


Isn't it a good time to start?

by CamilleDuDemon



Series: Hanging by a thread [1]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bottom Hux, Character Study, Falling In Love, M/M, Mild Smut, Past Child Abuse, Sex in a toilet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-17
Updated: 2016-05-17
Packaged: 2018-06-09 01:06:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6882862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CamilleDuDemon/pseuds/CamilleDuDemon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hux sighs, his cold hand probing all the pockets in search of his Marlboros and lighter.<br/>Trousers, front left pocket.<br/>He lights his cigarette and takes a deep, satisfying drag.<br/>“Cigarette?”, he asks, waving his tatty pack towards the stranger.<br/>Mr. Darkside's brown eyes widen.<br/>“Really? Thanks, man!”<br/>His voice is powerful, Hux notice. Loud, baritone. Thunderous.<br/>Warm.<br/>“You're welcome.”<br/>The stranger has some troubles lighting the Marlboro he was offered. His impossibly big hands seem to be numb for the freezing cold.<br/>When he succeeds, he sucks the filter like he was in a desperate nicotine withdrawal.<br/>Maybe he is, Hux thinks. Maybe he's trying to quit with smoke.<br/>Or maybe, he just can't afford cigarettes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Isn't it a good time to start?

The train station is cold and dirty.

Hux shakes his head, giving a quick look at his designer watch.

8 pm.

Two young girls pass him by, dressed in ripped jeans and parkas, laughing loud at some pun he hasn't heard.

No signs of incoming trains or timetables.

Only litter and poorly painted graffiti.

Resigned to wait for a long time, Hux gracelessly collapses on a beat-up, unsteady bench.

Suddenly, he realizes someone is staring at him.

Instinctively, he hides his expensive watch under the starched cuff of his shirt, keeping a close eye on the dark haired man who's looking at him with his head slightly tilted.

The stranger's dark curls brush against one of the flacky pillars of the platform.

For what Hux can see, he's tall.

Really tall and well-built, dressed in total black (a hoodie jumped out the nineties and a plain pair of discolored black jeans) and clearly freezing to death.

He really doesn't look like a ruthless thief.

Hux sighs, his cold hand probing all the pockets in search of his Marlboros and lighter.

Trousers, front left pocket.

He lights his cigarette and takes a deep, satisfying drag.

“Cigarette?”, he asks, waving his tatty pack towards the stranger.

Mr. Darkside's brown eyes widen.

“Really? Thanks, man!”

His voice is powerful, Hux notice. Loud, baritone. Thunderous.

Warm.

“You're welcome.”

The stranger has some troubles lighting the Marlboro he was offered. His impossibly big hands seem to be numb for the freezing cold.

When he succeeds, he sucks the filter like he was in a desperate nicotine withdrawal.

Maybe he is, Hux thinks. Maybe he's trying to quit with smoke.

Or maybe, he just can't afford cigarettes.

He's not much of a talker, after all, and Mr. Darkside seems to be too busy with savoring the sour taste of tobacco and tar to break the ice.

“So...uhm...waiting for the train?”, Hux tentatively asks.

What a dumb way to start a conversation.

But the stranger doesn't laugh at him for the utterly idiotic pickup line. He simply nods, running his fingers through his chaotic mop of hair.

“Yes. I just hope not to wait in vain. You know, some drivers purposely skip this station because of the high crime rates in this part of the city.”

Hux grimaces, dropping some ashes on the concrete.

“Good. This fucking day just keeps getting better”, he bitterly comments.

The stranger chuckles, showing irregular but somehow beautiful to see white teeth.

“Kylo Ren”, he says, grabbing Hux's hand and giving it a vigorous shake.

Elegant and delicate backs, calloused palms.

A hard worker.

“Hux”, he replies.

Kylo Ren frowns.

“Hux? Just Hux?”

“Yes, just Hux. Hux is enough.”

“Is it...your name?”

Hux scowls.

He has heard this question one too many times.

“No, it's my surname. But that's how I appreciate people calling me. Only Hux, I'm okay with that.”

“Hey, it's okay, I meant no offense”, Ren apologizes.

The red-haired man cracks a smile.

Sometimes his words are too sharp and cutting, his voice too dry.

Anyway, he can't help it. He has always had this flaw.

“Sorry, I'm...not that used to small talks.”

Kylo Ren grins.

Two dimples appear on his cheeks, making him look at least ten years younger than he could be.

His face is cleanly shaved, though his hair are a bit greasy and dirty.

“Oh, neither do I. But I think it's a good way to kill time by talking to a stranger. It's kind of liberating.”

Hux laughs.

God knows how bad he wants a hot soup right now.

“What kind of a name is Kylo Ren? Was your mother a punk, back in the eighties?”

Mr. Darkside scratches the tip of his prominent nose, a clear sign of embarassment.

“No, actually it's not my real name.”

“Yeah, I got that.”

“My real name is Ben, if it matters. Ben Solo. But my father is a total asshole and I can't stand the idea of sharing his surname. So, at fifteen, I started going as Kylo Ren.”

Hux merely nods.

He knows something about asshole fathers, but his story is not something that one easily shares.

Being beaten with a belt isn't something that someone could be proud of. Same with going bed without having had any dinner or being forced to call your father “Sir”.

Hux lights another Marlboro, his eyes lost in the microscopic sleet that has started to fall and mix with the humid wind.

“May I have another one?”, Ren asks shamelessly.

“Help yourself. I always carry an emergency pack in my suitcase.”

Mr. Darkside gives him a smug look.

“I suspected that, somehow.”

“One always have to be prepared.”

Ren shakes his head, his Bic lighter shoved deep in the front pockets of his hoodie.

“Are you a workaholic? Because you totally look like one.”

Hux shrugs.

“Sometimes. But I have hobbies too, in case you were wondering. I play chess in my free time. And I live with a cat.”

“Cat person, uh? I used to have a dog. Chewbacca. But it was my father's so...”

Hux's lips curl into a faint smile.

“Do you play piano? Your fingers are long and delicate.”

Kylo Ren raises his brows, impressed.

“You're a keen observer, Hux.”

In a swift move, he sits on the bench next to Hux, completely uncaring of personal space.

Hux's watch strikes 8.45.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hux has always wondered how would it have felt to have a pianist's hands all over his body.

Now that he's experiencing it, he is sure that none of his fantasies could be compared to the real feeling on his skin.

Electric.

Gentle.

Manly.

Kylo Ren can touch him in the exact way he wants to be touched.

Even if they are making out in a sordid toilet of a godforsaken station in the middle of the inner city, he can't feel ashamed or disgusted.

His body and Ren's move in sync, up and down, contracted and relaxed.

Choke, release.

Repeat.

Push in, pull out.

Roughly, but not violently.

Passionately, but not hastily.

Kylo Ren's fingers carves into his skin, leaving marks and bruises.

But they are not painful.

His sharp, irregular teeth breaks his skin, sometimes drawing blood.

Hux likes it like this.

He likes Ren's muffled, choking moans. He likes his plush lips clenched around his sensitive nipples.

Ren's torso – freed from the cage of the hoodie and the t-shirt – is broad and muscular, hairless, slightly tanned.

His nipples are rosy and receptive, hard under Hux's wet digits.

He is big.

And, apparently, he's really good at fucking.

Maybe he doesn't even know he owns such a talent, so Hux whispers a breathless “You're good at fucking” at his ear.

Ren groans in response, giving a hard thrust that makes Hux see stars, sending a jolt of pure pleasure down his spine.

“Shit, you're really good at fucking”, the red-haired man repeats, a drop of cooling sweat running down his temple.

 

 

 

 

 

 

“What time is it?”

Ren reaches for Hux's luxury watch, that's laying forgotten on the toilet's trash bin.

“10.30”, he tiredly answers.

Hux grunts, grabbing his now wrinkled trousers and putting them on.

“Fuck, I'm calling a taxi. Wanna share?”

The dark-haired man gives him a awkward thumbs up.

“God, yes.”

“Pull yourself together, first. You seem like that kind of person that forgets to wear trousers before leaving for work.”

Ren lets out a loud laugh, hastily getting dressed.

“It happened...once or twice.”

Hux shakes his head, grinning.

“Have you had dinner yet?”

“Nope.”

“Good. I know a good Vietnamese restaurant whose kitchen is kept open until 3 am. I wouldn't mind having some hot noodles soup. And I'm sure you wouldn't mind too.”

“I've never had Vietnamese food in my life.”

Hux carelessly shrugs.

“Isn't it a good time to start?”

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
